


Alternative Medicine by Madison

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-25
Updated: 2010-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As punishment for breaking a cultural taboo, Rodney is sentenced to death in a virtual reality of his own making.  Can John help him find his way back to reality before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Medicine by Madison

Alternative Medicine by [Madison](viewuser.php?uid=1593) [NC-17]  
**Summary:** As punishment for breaking a cultural taboo, Rodney is sentenced to death in a virtual reality of his own making. Can John help him find his way back to reality before it's too late?

**Categories:** [Slash Pairings](browse.php?type=categories&id=3) &gt; [McKay/Sheppard](browse.php?type=categories&id=11)  
**Characters:** [Carson Beckett](browse.php?type=characters&charid=3), [Elizabeth Weir](browse.php?type=characters&charid=5), [John Sheppard](browse.php?type=characters&charid=7), [Other](browse.php?type=characters&charid=10), [Radek Zelenka](browse.php?type=characters&charid=11), [Rodney McKay](browse.php?type=characters&charid=12), [Ronon Dex](browse.php?type=characters&charid=13), [Teyla Emmagan](browse.php?type=characters&charid=17)  
**Genres:** [Angst](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=3), [Character Study](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=5), [Drama](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=7), [First Time](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=10), [Friendship](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=11), [Hurt Comfort](browse.php?type=class&type_id=1&classid=13)  
**Warnings:** [Adult themes](browse.php?type=class&type_id=2&classid=23)  
**Chapters:** 1 [[Table of Contents](viewstory.php?sid=12025&index=1)]  
**Series:** None

Word count: 15400; Completed: Yes

 

Updated: 09 Jan 2008; Published: 18 Jul 2007  
[[Report This](contact.php?action=report&url=viewstory.php?chapid=12467)]

 

 

 

 

 

> **Story Notes:**  
> The idea for this story came after reading the wonderful story 'Bereft' by kashkow on wraithbait. (You should go read it too) I started thinking what if other cultures had this technology, but were still using it to inflict punishment? And then, what if Rodney was sentenced to death--what form of punishment would his sentence take? And what if John could enter this reality too? And what if...well, you see where I am going with this. All errors are mine. No toes intentionally stepped on.
> 
> To my delight, _Alternative Medicine_ won the [Puddlejumper Award for Hurt/Comfort in the 2007 McKay/Sheppard Awards](http://pics.livejournal.com/forcryinoutloud/pic/00224gg3). Thank you to whomever nominated this story and to everyone who chose to vote for it!

 

* * *

>   
> Rodney McKay opened one eye briefly, only to close it again as the room started spinning. Great. He had harbored hopes of perhaps getting up today. It was time, according to the schedule, but then the human body, much to his disappointment, seldom respected timetables. Still, normally on day four after the chemo, he could sit up without vertigo. Maybe if he just moved slowly...
> 
>   
> _Or not at all_. The little voice in his head had been getting bolder lately; the one the suggested that since everyone knew his condition was terminal, what was the point? Why put himself through this hell when he was just going to die anyway? Resolutely, he ignored the thought. He was doing this because after the lost week of the chemo itself, and the week that it took to recover from the chemo, he had at least two productive weeks until the cycle began again. Well, okay, one week where he felt only moderately crappy and he could review his previous work and one pretty decent week where he really made some progress. A man couldn't die with his legacy half done. And Rodney McKay was a man to be remembered.
> 
>   
> Still he was beginning to agree with Teyla. He did not feel entirely alone in this world, knowing that his lovely neighbor in the apartment down the hall was keeping an eye on him, but as both she and the home health nurse pointed out, he was really too sick at times to be living alone. The thought of someone seeing him so weak and helpless, or worse, in the aftermath of having just puked his guts out, made him writhe inside but it was all getting to be too much. And as Teyla so calmly pointed out, if he had someone to help him, then he wouldn't need to waste his valuable time when he _was_ well enough by running errands and taking care of the details of his life.
> 
>   
> Getting up was something that had to contemplated for a while, so Rodney laid in bed for an additional half hour, sometimes dozing, sometimes brain suddenly awake and demanding that he address certain issues immediately. Finally, he slowly sat up and idled for a moment on the edge of the bed, studying his bare feet where they rested on the floor. The act of getting to the bathroom itself caused him to break out in a cold sweat, and he had to take another rest break there. It was always a jolt to see himself in the mirror these days. Blue eyes staring back intensely from sunken, red-rimmed sockets, dark circles like bruises beneath them. Hollowed cheeks under a patchy four day growth of beard. He cautiously ran a hand through his hair and stared blankly at the fistful of brittle hair that came away with his touch. _Oh well_.
> 
>   
> Slowly, methodically, he moved like a somnambulist through the routines of washing his face, shaving and brushing his teeth. He desperately wanted a shower but that would be sheer lunacy on his part until he did not feel so weak, despite having the handrails added to the shower after the last time he fell. He knew some of the weakness could be alleviated with food, if his stomach just wouldn't rebel at the idea. Maybe later today. For now, just for a change of scenery, he would go to the living room.
> 
>   
> The odor of sickness wasn't quite as pronounced in the main living area. Rodney tucked himself into the couch with a fuzzy blanket and promptly found himself dozing again, in the middle of trying to figure out what he would do about the fact that for the second time in as many weeks, the cleaning service that he'd hired had quit on him. He awoke, disoriented and uncertain of the day or time, to the sound of the buzzer on his door.
> 
>   
> The persistent buzzer on his door. "All right, already!" He shouted, voice cracking at the unaccustomed use. "I'm coming! Keep your pants on."
> 
>   
> The glance through the peephole was of little use, showing him a distorted image of what appeared to be a person consisting largely of hair, dressed in black and shifting impatiently outside the door. He sighed.
> 
>   
> "Go away, I'm not buying."
> 
>   
> Inexplicably, the guy in the hallway grinned. He tucked a pair of sunglasses into the neckline of his t-shirt and leaned into the peephole. "Good, 'cuz I'm not selling." He held up a folded newspaper with a section circled in red. "I'm here about the ad." He tapped the paper as he spoke.
> 
>   
> "I didn't place an ad."
> 
>   
> The person in the hallway seemed unfazed. "This is 22B Baker St, right?" He appeared to be taken aback for a split second and then grinned to himself again. "22B," he muttered, "_now_ I get it..." and then more loudly, turning the paper and reading off it. "You're Dr. Rodney McKay, right? Cranky, musical genius? Famous composer?"
> 
>   
> Rodney opened the door just a crack, chain in place as he motioned with his fingers for the paper to be turned over to him. "Let me see that."
> 
>   
> The guy in the hall obliged by folding the paper in half again and stuffing it through the narrowed opening. Rodney grabbed the paper and promptly slammed the door shut while he read the circled ad. "Wanted: personal assistant to high maintenance musical genius/famous composer. Duties to include general errands, shopping, driving to appointments, etc. Nursing skills and a high tolerance for insults a plus, though not mandatory. Room, board and expenses provided. Serious inquiries only." His name and address followed.
> 
>   
> Teyla did this. He was going to have to kill her when he felt well enough. Though truthfully, even when he was at his best, Teyla could take him with one arm tied behind her back. He peeked out the spyhole again. The Guy In Black was still there, hands in pockets, whistling quietly as he looked up and down the hall, rocking slightly on his feet. As Rodney watched, he appeared to stop momentarily to inspect his boots, looking at them as though he'd never seen them before. Or maybe he was just vain. Rodney sighed. He might as well interview the guy. As soon as he laid out the details, Rodney was sure this guy would disappear.
> 
>   
> He unchained the door and held it open. "Well, don't just stand there, come inside."
> 
>   
> He stepped back to let the stranger enter his apartment, momentarily resenting both the man's good looks and obvious health. Even before Rodney got sick, he looked nothing like this guy. Rodney had to give him points though, for the way he registered Rodney's appearance and then moved on with barely a flicker of an eyelid. He went as far as the center of the living area and then stopped, quietly checking out the surroundings. His eye seemed drawn to the huge balcony doors, where outside the city gleamed in the sunlight. Rodney was perversely proud of his oceanfront view, and caught himself preening a little at the man's reaction. He watched as the stranger took in the rest of the room, panning past the baby grand in one corner, the disarray in the small kitchen, the piled up blanket on the couch beside the open laptop before coming to a rest back on his face.
> 
>   
> "And you are...?" Rodney said sarcastically.
> 
>   
> The guy seemed somewhat taken aback but answered with a raised eyebrow. "John Sheppard."
> 
>   
> There was a long pause, in which Rodney felt uncomfortably like this was supposed to mean something to him, which was patently ridiculous. This guy looked like he spent all his time outdoors, pursuing dangerous activities at speed. Motorcycles and sports cars, anything with wheels. Rocking climbing, parasailing, something insanely reckless, you name it. He probably never sat in a concert hall in his life. Suddenly tired, Rodney headed over to the couch and sat down heavily, waving Sheppard towards the only chair in the room.
> 
>   
> "Frankly, I don't think you'll want this job," Rodney began without preamble, "not when all the facts are made apparent."
> 
>   
> "What's wrong with you?" Sheppard seated himself easily in the chair and then turned weirdly colored eyes on him with an intent stare. Momentarily distracted by trying to determine the man's eye color, it took him a second to realize what he had so bluntly asked. Rodney could appreciate bluntness.
> 
>   
> "I have terminal cancer." The other man's eyes widened briefly, as though he were not expecting this answer somehow. Well what _did_ he think? That Rodney looked like hell on earth from a bad weekend bender? Rodney thought ironically that at this point, given a choice between the two, he would have picked alcoholism gladly. "I'm undergoing chemo, which leaves me fairly dysfunctional for at least two weeks out of every month. Like the ad says, I need someone to run errands, pick up groceries, whatever, but more than that, I need someone to get me to doctor's appointments and I need someone to be around...well, I need, well, sometimes..." He felt himself reddening. He didn't know how to put it—how did he tell someone that he might need help getting to the bathroom or cleaning up after him when he was too weak to do it himself?
> 
>   
> The oddest expression passed across the other man's face like a flicker of a silhouette in a window, but then it was gone. He simply said quietly, "My mom had cancer when I was in junior high school. I helped take care of her."
> 
>   
> "Oh." For some reason, this seemed like an important revelation and Rodney had the oddest compulsion to apologize for not knowing this fact previously. "Yes. Well. Sometimes I need help. Though I want to make it perfectly clear, _I_ did not put that ad in the paper."
> 
>   
> A weird little half smile quirked across the other man's face. "Understood."
> 
>   
> Rodney sat watching him a moment longer, deciding the indeterminate eye color was hazel, and then wondering if they changed in color according to lighting and mood. He shook himself mentally for the odd introspective wandering. Obviously anemia didn't agree with his higher brain function. It wasn't like him to sit around mooning over someone he just met.
> 
>   
> Rodney felt it was important to be completely honest here. It would suck to have this guy quit after a few days just when Rodney was starting to become reliant on having him around. The fact that he had already leapt to the assumption that he was hiring the guy was disturbing, and an indication of just how weak he felt these days. "Seriously, this is not a cakewalk. When I get the chemo, which I've just recently undergone, I'm pretty useless, can't keep any food down, can't get up out of bed. When I am feeling better, I have work, important work to do and I need to be left alone to do it. I need you...well, someone anyway, to take care of all the other crap so I can use what time I have left to get my work done."
> 
>   
> The guy cocked his head to one side. "You said the cancer was terminal?"
> 
>   
> Rodney frowned. Ye gods, this guy wasn't going to try and talk him into going to some stupid 'we can heal you' center, was he? Offer some pet advice from his own personal experience? "Yes. Terminal." He spoke with a snap.
> 
>   
> "Then why do the chemo? If it makes you that sick?"
> 
>   
> Rodney was flabbergasted. No one had ever asked him that before. "Because..." he said slowly, "I'm in the middle of composing my final work...a symphony. It might take me longer to finish because of the chemo, but the chemo _is_ buying me time to finish. A case of two steps forward, one step back." He decided it was time to take control back of the interview. "What about you? What makes you think you're qualified to take this position?"
> 
>   
> "Well," the man named Sheppard drawled, "Like I said, I have some personal experience with sick people. I also am used to chauffeuring people around, dealing with supplies, putting out fires, that sort of thing." He leaned back in the chair, looking completely relaxed. _Smug bastard_. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, ankle resting on the opposite knee. His dark hair was cut relatively short, but stood up in places as though surprised that he was sitting there.
> 
>   
> "What was your last job?" Rodney asked sharply. He noted with satisfaction the hesitation before answering.
> 
>   
> "I'm....uh, _was_ in the Air Force. Pilot." The guy suddenly did not look quite so sanguine anymore and Rodney could see the wheels of prevarication spinning behind his eyes. Obviously he was not going to get the truth, whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Pilot though, that part made sense.
> 
>   
> "And you are no longer in the Air Force because...?"
> 
>   
> Another hesitation and then a shrug. "I was discharged. Dishonorably. Failure to obey orders."
> 
>   
> _Big surprise there_. Rodney thought about it a moment. "But no jail time?"
> 
>   
> A small tightening around the eyes as a memory struck the other man. "No. Would that matter?" An eyebrow quirked up again.
> 
>   
> "I was just thinking...if there was no jail time, then they must have been stupid orders." Rodney was mostly thinking out loud, but startled by the sudden flash of a grin he received.
> 
>   
> "Very," Sheppard agreed. "At least, _I_ thought so."
> 
>   
> They sat in companionable silence for a moment. "I'm really difficult to get along with," Rodney said suddenly, with a frown.
> 
>   
> "No." Sheppard exaggerated the disbelief in his voice. "Really?"
> 
>   
> Rodney felt his mouth gape open in shock while at the same time a small part of him was amused. Amusement won. It had been a while since he found anything to be funny. "Are you always this insubordinate to potential employers?"
> 
>   
> Sheppard screwed up his face briefly, as though seriously contemplating the question. "Yup. Pretty much."
> 
>   
> Rodney startled himself by snorting with laughter. "I think we'll get along just fine."
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> "Let me see if I have this straight now, I want to make sure we are all on the same page." Dr. Kate Heightmeyer was saying in that oh-so-soothing voice of hers that made John want to grind his teeth and grab her by the shoulders, shaking her until _her_ teeth rattled. Kate looked back and forth from him to Carson Beckett and then over to Rodney where he lay, still as death in the infirmary bed. "Rodney transgressed on a religious dictum while on planet MX6-514..."
> 
>   
> Everyone looked expectantly at John. "He entered the sacred temple. He didn't _know_ it was a sacred temple, it's not like there was a big sign posted. It just looked like a tumble of fallen rocks. He was tracking a power source. Something we've done a thousand times." The injustice of what took place on the planet still made him sick with anger inside. A simple mistake, a cultural misunderstanding, but nothing, nothing they said or did could make it right and Rodney had to pay the price. And he had been powerless to prevent it.
> 
>   
> "So, Rodney was deemed in violation of the societal laws and the crime was punishable by death." Elizabeth helpfully filled in the gaps after looking at John, apparently seeing something in his face that made her decide to move on. John glanced around at the people all gathered around Rodney's bedside where an impressive array of electronic equipment was connected both to him directly and to a device attached to his right bicep. Carson had cleared out Teyla and Ronon after the initial questioning, now it was just the Scottish doctor, Elizabeth in her role as expedition leader, Kate and a very worried looking Radek Zelenka.
> 
>   
> "And this device," Kate said slowly, indicating the alien machine firmly attached to Rodney's arm, "is some sort of virtual reality generator? And the exact punishment is ultimately chosen by the prisoner himself?"
> 
>   
> "As best as we can tell," Carson agreed. "We certainly cannot disconnect the device—anytime we try, it sends Rodney into shock. The Colonel's team was fortunate enough to be able to rescue Rodney with the device intact and get him back here to Atlantis, but there you are. We have been able to access an interface with the device, apparently someone can enter the VR with the prisoner."
> 
>   
> "It must a means to monitor the prisoner. Presumably not all sentences are capital on this world." Radek puffed a sigh and folded his arms across his chest as he finished speaking.
> 
>   
> "So why isn't Rodney dead?" Kate frowned delicately.
> 
>   
> "Because he thinks he's got terminal cancer," John growled, "but he's undergoing chemotherapy." Kate looked up at him sharply as he spoke, her face slowly lightening with pleasure at his words.
> 
>   
> "That's our Rodney." She smiled at him and it oddly felt like they were sharing a secret.
> 
>   
> "I don't understand." Elizabeth's frown mirrored her concern.
> 
>   
> The blonde psychologist turned to her and outlined her thoughts expressively. "As I understand it, the device chooses something from the prisoner's subconscious to enact the death sentence. Rodney could have easily envisioned death at the hands of the Wraith, or from a lethal exposure of radiation, or drawn on any of his previous near death experiences since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy, like the nanovirus scare for example. But Rodney chooses instead something he probably is terrified of, or at least can see as possibly happening to him, but that he can also _fight_. He chose something that would actually buy him time for someone to figure out a solution." She beamed suddenly at his prone form as though Rodney were a prized pupil. She turned back to John. "But so far you are the only one who has been able to successfully integrate with the VR? Does it have something to do with the ATA gene?"
> 
>   
> "I don't think so," John said slowly. He found himself staring at Rodney's comatose form and then made himself meet Heightmeyer's eye. "I tried to explain to the Vorlons..."
> 
>   
> Was it just yesterday morning that he and Rodney had joked about the name of the planet during the briefing? Rodney had gone so far as to wonder aloud if they would be met by Ambassador Kosh...he forcibly wrenched his mind back to the subject at hand.
> 
>   
> "I tried to explain," he began again, "that it was not Rodney's fault, that he was acting under my orders and that if anyone should be held responsible for breaking their stupid little religious taboos, it should be me. I was told," his voice twisted bitterly at the memory, "that since Rodney was the actual violator, he must undergo the punishment, but since I was ultimately responsible, I would be allowed to watch him die."
> 
>   
> _So help me god, if you ask me how that makes me feel, I_ **will** _kill you_. His look was for Kate alone, but the rest of the room seemed to get the message as well.
> 
>   
> "Okay." Kate took a deep breath. "So this ring device allows you access to Rodney's VR." She indicated the black obsidian-looking ring that lay on a surgical tray beside Rodney's bed. "We can work with this. I take it you used it simply to gather information initially?"
> 
>   
> "Yes. He's created for himself a plausible existence back on Earth. He didn't seem to know me though. It seems that Rodney was looking for someone along the lines of a personal assistant-slash-nursemaid. I applied for the job and was hired."
> 
>   
> "Really?" Elizabeth looked at him sharply. "And he hired _you_?"
> 
>   
> "I think he was desperate." John acknowledged the oddity of his being Rodney's PA with a faint grin. He turned back to Kate. "Why can't we just tell him up front, he's in a VR but he's safe now and he can just come on out?"
> 
>   
> "There is no indication that there _is_ any way out for the prisoner. Obviously there must be some means of compelling the prisoner to stay in the VR." Radek spoke up suddenly, tapping his fingers against his upper arm in nervous frustration. Everyone looked at him for a moment and the unspoken acknowledgement was that the very person they needed to figure out the solution was the one trapped in the problem.
> 
>   
> "Besides, if we tell him point blank that he does not have terminal cancer, for all we know the system will default to a more rapidly lethal scenario. I don't think we should try to force him to face reality just yet." Kate, for once, was all for leaving the coping mechanism in place.
> 
>   
> "There has to be a way out. I've been there and back. If not all crimes carry a death sentence, then surely there has to be a way out for Rodney." John was getting impatient with all this endless hypothesizing. They just needed to get on with it. "Maybe I can find it on the other side."
> 
>   
> Everyone looked at him and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "We can't just sit here and do nothing!"
> 
>   
> "Carson," Elizabeth tipped her head in the doctor's direction, "how long can Rodney survive in this VR, without actual food and water?"
> 
>   
> Carson gave a big gusty sigh. "Well, we can keep him hydrated on IV fluids, but if he stays in the VR for much more than a few days, we'll have to put in a feeding tube. In theory however, we can keep him going indefinitely."
> 
>   
> "As long as the cancer doesn't kill him," John said darkly. "Give me the ring. I'm going back in."
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> Rodney awoke for the second time that day to the sounds of someone moving in the apartment. The noise made him freeze for an instant, heart pounding painfully in his chest, until he remembered the interview from the morning. Slowly, after his heart rate returned to something approaching normal again, he slipped on his admittedly ratty bathrobe and made his way into the main living area.
> 
>   
> There was no sign of Sheppard, though a large black duffle bag was now situated by the front door. He followed the sounds of things clattering into the kitchen and discovered Sheppard standing with his back to the kitchen entrance, adding chopped carrots from a cutting board to a stock pot simmering on the stove. He glanced over his shoulder at Rodney's presence, though what tipped him off was unclear to Rodney. He replaced the lid to the pot and set down the cutting board, turning and wiping his hands on a white dishrag laid over one black-clad shoulder. "Hey." He stood assessing Rodney with that one eyebrow raised again.
> 
>   
> "You came back." Rodney blinked, trying to take in the fact that not only did the stranger from this morning actually return, but that he appeared to be cooking as well.
> 
>   
> "I assumed from the fact that you gave me a key that you intended for me to return." Sheppard's voice was dry. "That was the general idea when you sent me out for groceries, right?" He opened the refrigerator, taking out a package of chicken, placing it on the counter, slicing the cellophane with a small knife. "You realize McKay, that having a permanently recorded grocery list on your laptop, complete with little boxes to check off items, is just a little weird, right?" He punctuated his words with the knife in his hand.
> 
>   
> "It's not weird, it's expedient. I never deviate from those items on the list. This way, I can print out the list, see immediately what items I need and pick them up without wasting time." He frowned slightly as he watched Sheppard work. Red peppers and mushrooms were not on the list.
> 
>   
> Sheppard chuckled to himself as he added a bowl of cooked rice to the stock pot. "If you eat the shit on that list you won't live longer, it will just seem that way. Bean curds? Soymilk? What's up with that?"
> 
>   
> "Did I mention Teyla to you?" Rodney hated to admit it, but whatever was simmering on the stove was starting to smell good.
> 
>   
> "The neighbor down the hall that runs a yoga-slash-martial arts studio?" Sheppard flashed a wide grin before suddenly damping it down. "Yes, you mentioned her."
> 
>   
> "Well, she's been giving me nutritional advice."
> 
>   
> "And you're _taking_ it?" His voice sounded amusedly incredulous. "By all means then, stick with her advice if that's what you want. You won't mind if I don't, right?" He went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a package of fresh pasta. "You're welcome to have some soup if you want. I should warn you though, there are only five things that I can cook, otherwise it's takeout for me."
> 
>   
> "I don't think microwave popcorn counts as cooking."
> 
>   
> "Damn." The grin was back. "Okay, four things. Chicken soup is one of them."
> 
>   
> Rodney shuffled wearily over to the table and sat down. "Be sure you clean all the utensils and the cutting board really well. Immunosuppressed individual here. Chicken. Salmonella. You know the drill. Disinfectant is under the sink. Oh and by the way, I'm deathly... "
> 
>   
> "I know, I know, allergic to citrus." Sheppard waved the knife over his shoulder.
> 
>   
> "How did you know that?" Rodney frowned, wishing he did not feel so stuporous. He saw Sheppard's shoulders tense up momentarily and then heard his voice say causally, without turning, "You mentioned it earlier. Don't you remember?"
> 
>   
> Rodney sighed. "I can barely remember my name these days."
> 
>   
> Sheppard turned and gave him a long, unreadable look before turning abruptly back to the stove and lifting the lid on the pot to check on its contents. He then reached over and switched on the coffee maker, placing a couple of slices of bread in the toaster beside it. Rodney realized he had dozed off again when a plate with two slices of buttered toast and a deliciously aromatic cup of coffee was set in front of him.
> 
>   
> "What's this?" Rodney felt pathetically glad that there was someone else in the apartment just now. He wondered at what point he would stop feeling this way and start to resent the presence of the other person—be irritated by having to wait his turn for the bathroom, annoyed by the other guy's taste in music, stumble over his clutter. He wanted to know because this feeling like he might burst into tears at any moment would _not_ do.
> 
>   
> "Soup's gonna be a while longer. I thought you might try a little toast." He looked up to see Sheppard frowning down at him. He stared at the coffee cup as though it contained heroin. He gave it the tiniest of shoves away from him.
> 
>   
> "I don't drink coffee anymore."
> 
>   
> "Now, you see, that's just plain wrong." Sheppard moved away without retrieving the cup. "Because, I'm betting you and coffee? That's like Popeye and his spinach."
> 
>   
> Rodney stared at the cup. _You know, he was probably right_. One cup couldn't hurt. He pulled the cup closer to him, cradling its warmth in his hands.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> John blinked, momentarily disoriented at the sudden shift in perspectives from Rodney's apartment building to the infirmary, even though he had been the one to pull the ring off his hand in the VR. He shook off the feeling of being out of synch with reality and took in the circle of worried faces standing around him where he lay on the bed next to Rodney's. Both Carson and Kate were there; Elizabeth and Radek had been replaced by Ronon and Teyla.
> 
>   
> "Well?" Kate prompted. "What happened this time?"
> 
>   
> "How long was I there?" John started to sit up and then felt Carson catch his arm as he threatened to spill over sideways. He brushed the doctor off. "Just a little dizzy. Reality shift. I'm over it now. How long?"
> 
>   
> Carson consulted his watch. "Roughly six hours."
> 
>   
> "Okay, VR time is much faster than real time. At least twice as fast. Rodney's not much help at the moment. He spends most of his time asleep. He was sleeping when I left him now." His thoughts shifted back to the sight of Rodney asleep on the couch, _The Holy Grail_ still flickering on the television screen, the memory of his laughter at the 'bring out your dead' scene. "He looks like crap." He glared at Carson, as thought it were somehow his fault. "He must have lost at least 30 pounds. He falls asleep in the middle of a sentence. He's white as a sheet, and for Rodney, that's saying something."
> 
>   
> "What can you tell me about this 'chemotherapy'?" Carson frowned. John relayed what he could remember, outlining the details of the schedule that Rodney had presented him with and what he had observed in the time that he was there. When he finished, Carson looked grave.
> 
>   
> "Experimental therapy, eh? That could be anything. Obviously not following any known chemo protocols and relying on Rodney's imagination for dreadful side effects." He sighed, patting John on the arm briefly. "Still, whatever you are doing, it seems to be helping. His color is better and his vitals have improved slightly."
> 
>   
> "I got him to eat a little something." John clipped off the words, frustrated at how little he had accomplished in six fucking hours, for crying out loud.
> 
>   
> "Don't discount your efforts here, Colonel." Kate's voice was quiet but authoritative. "It may be that the key to reversing the sentence can only be taken by the prisoner himself, and in small steps."
> 
>   
> _He is not the prisoner! We're talking about Rodney here_. John decided that shouting at Heightmeyer probably was counter-productive right now. He opened his hand and started slip back the ring back on his finger.
> 
>   
> "Whoa!" Carson grabbed his arm. "Not so fast there, Colonel."
> 
>   
> "Look, Doc, the only time I can really explore the environment is when Rodney's asleep. Besides, what if he wakes up and I'm not there? Being there is part of my job description."
> 
>   
> "Ye need to eat and sleep yourself, or ye'll be doing Rodney no good." Carson was stern, his brogue becoming more pronounced.
> 
>   
> "We'll see that he does both, Dr. Beckett." Teyla's voice was smooth and when John turned to her, mouth open to protest, she merely raised the 'Teyla-has-spoken' eyebrow at him and he subsided.
> 
>   
> Grumping, he swung himself off the infirmary bed. "I want to be back here in three hours," he told Teyla, in a voice that brooked no argument.
> 
>   
> "Then you'd better eat fast." He shot a sharp look in Ronon's direction at his words, but the Satedan merely shrugged.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> When Rodney staggered into the hallway the next morning, he discovered Sheppard in the bathroom, dressed only in the black jeans that hung low on his hips, the waist band of his white briefs peeking out as he bent over the duffle bag sitting on the toilet, muttering, "Damn it, _tell_ me I have something other than black in here!" He was rummaging around in the bag, hair still damp from a recent shower, small droplets of water gleaming on his shoulders as the muscles moved.
> 
>   
> Rodney swallowed hard. Damn, this guy was good looking. As he watched, Sheppard made a noise of satisfaction and hauled out a crumpled blue cotton shirt from the bag. When Sheppard looked up, he caught Rodney's eye in the fogged over mirror.
> 
>   
> "Hey." Sheppard pulled on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. "I'll be out of your way in a second." He grabbed a shaving kit and tossed it into the bag, hoisting it up by the handles. "Are you good? Need anything?"
> 
>   
> Rodney forced his eyes to slide away towards the shower stall but they came almost immediately back to Sheppard again. "Um. I'm going to try to take a shower. If you could just, you know, keep an ear out?"
> 
>   
> "For the sound of you slithering down to the floor in a heap? Yeah, I can manage that." He grinned as he passed Rodney in the doorway. Rodney swayed slightly as he made room for Sheppard to pass and Sheppard let the bag fall to the floor as he placed a hand on Rodney's arm. "Hey. You okay? You need some help? You know, with the shower thing?"
> 
>   
> For an instant, Rodney was sorely tempted to say yes. The temptation came from so many different levels, from the desire for someone else to take care of him for a change, for the sheer longing for some kind of human contact that did not involve latex gloves and an IV injection, for the selfish appreciation of this guy's physical attributes...he had to laugh at the last part. That he could be attracted to this guy was so impossibly ironic. Here he was, mostly dead, lusting after a guy who was not only bursting at the seams with health, but undoubtedly straight as well. It was like a scene from _Corpse Bride_. Rodney had a little image of him giving a lusty wink to Sheppard and watching in horror as his eyeball popped out and rolled around on the floor.
> 
>   
> "No, no-no-no," Rodney snorted. "I'm fine. I'm good. Just tired that's all. I'll take it slow, it'll be fine."
> 
>   
> "Okay, but I'll be around if you need me." Rodney was startled to realize that he actually believed the guy. It had not been his general experience about people in the past.
> 
>   
> He was amazed at how much better the simple act of showering made him feel. It was a little distressing to see how much more hair went down the drain—he wondered what he would look like without eyebrows when that occurred. Still, looking like a freak of nature was only going to be a short-term proposition. He smiled inwardly at the remembrance of his former hypochondria. Apparently the saying was true: the way to cure hypochondria was to give the patient a truly serious illness. At any rate, he felt better than he usually did at this point in the cycle and if this kept up, he might actually get some work done ahead of schedule.
> 
> His good mood lasted until he entered the main living area to discover Sheppard at his laptop.
> 
>   
> "Hey!" He shouted, stalking over to the table where Sheppard sat with the open laptop in front of him. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" He whipped the laptop out of Sheppard's hands and in a voice that trembled with rage, he sputtered, "Get out. Get out right now. I don't know who you think you are, but you have _no right_..."
> 
>   
> The room began to spin alarmingly and he felt the laptop being removed from his grip, even as he felt a strong hand close around his upper arm and he was half hoisted into the nearest chair. He sat down heavily, fist pressed to his mouth, trying to overcome the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf him.
> 
>   
> "Hey, Rodney, look, I'm sorry, okay?" Sheppard was squatting in front of him, one hand still supporting him by the arm. "I didn't mean anything by it—look, talking about you falling in the shower got me to thinking about emergency contact numbers and I figured you had them in your laptop, I mean, c'mon, _grocery_ list and all. I know I should have waited 'til you came out, but I thought, well, what if I need them now? Look." He swung the laptop around to face Rodney on the table, opening it back up again. His list of emergency contact numbers was on the screen.
> 
>   
> "I'm sorry. It's just my whole life is on that laptop. It's all I've got." Rodney let his hand drop to his lap, suddenly conscious that he was wearing nothing but the ratty bathrobe, having left his disgustingly dirty clothes in the bathroom.
> 
>   
> Sheppard stood up. He had buttoned the blue shirt, but had not tucked it in, cuffs turned up halfway to the elbows. "You have _nothing_ to apologize for." He sounded almost angry. "I crossed the line there. I'm sorry. Look, I _get_ privacy, okay? I was just worried..." He paused. "You have a back up for the laptop, right?"
> 
>   
> "Of course I have a back up," Rodney tucked the edges of his bathrobe around his chest more closely. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
> 
>   
> Sheppard appeared to be biting his lips in an effort not to smile. "Okay. So you print me out a copy of your emergency contact numbers, as well as your doctors and a list of all the medications you are taking, and if I think of anything else, I'll ask you first, okay?"
> 
>   
> Rodney looked up at him. He had such an earnest expression on his face, Rodney relented. "Okay."
> 
>   
> "So we're cool, right?" Sheppard raised a '_you're not mad at me, are you_?' eyebrow at him.
> 
>   
> "_You're_ cool, I'm fine." Rodney had the weirdest sense of deja-vu when he spoke and from Sheppard's reaction, it would appear he felt the same.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> John had just stepped out into the hallway and was preparing to head outside so he could remove the ring from his hand, allowing him to return to reality, when he heard the sound of someone coming in the front door of the building. Curious, he leaned over the railing, peering down into the stairwell to see Ronon struggling to bring in a mattress single-handedly. He made his way down the stairs and stopped in front of Ronon.
> 
>   
> When their eyes met, he knew this was not the real Ronon. The man in front of him practically snarled in frustration at finding his way blocked. "Give you a hand?" He said casually, leaning against the wall.
> 
>   
> "I've got it," VR Ronon said, hoisting up his end of the mattress again.
> 
>   
> "I'm sure you do," John said smoothly. "Only I'm trying to get out and it would be faster if I just helped you move the mattress to wherever you are taking it."
> 
>   
> Ronon looked at him a long moment, and then bent his end of the mattress back, allowing John to slip past to the other end. He grasped it and then almost lost his hold as Ronon moved off briskly with his end tucked under one arm. He followed Ronon to the second floor, where Ronon kicked open the rest of the way the door to an apartment. John got two feet inside the room, enough to see that the place was entirely devoid of furniture or belongings, before Ronon dropped his end of the mattress and wheeled around to glare at John.
> 
>   
> "Yes. Okay. I see you can take it from here." John bit his lip. It wouldn't do to be a smart-ass with this Ronon; who knew what Rodney had conjured up? Still, he couldn't resist. "I like what you've done with the place."
> 
>   
> VR Ronon simply stared at him, in that way that the Ronon _he_ knew would do when he made some sort of cultural reference that Ronon didn't understand. He glanced at his watch; Carson would be having kittens if he did not check in soon. "Look," he said at last, "I'm with the guy in 22B..."
> 
>   
> "The sick guy?" Ronon rose to his full height and crossed his arms. He seemed even taller and more muscular than the real Ronon. John felt somehow intimidated in a way that he had not felt since that first meeting with Ronon holding them at gunpoint. Was this how Rodney saw the former Runner?
> 
>   
> "Yeah. So anyway, sometimes he doesn't have much of an appetite—we've always got leftovers. Stop by sometime if you're hungry." Ronon watched in silence as he gave him a small wave and headed out the door.
> 
>   
> Later, that evening, he returned to Rodney's apartment to find him sitting in the dark, the balcony windows open and curtains billowing into the room. The air was heavy with the scent of the sea and lightening could be seen at a distance out over the ocean. He was sitting on the stool in front of the piano, but had his back to it, facing out towards the balcony.
> 
>   
> John halted on finding him this way; uncertain of how to proceed. This was a side to Rodney he had not seen before. "Hey." He settled on casual. "Isn't salt air bad for the piano?"
> 
>   
> There was a long pause and then Rodney said sharply, "Like it matters."
> 
>   
> _Whew-boy_. John had no idea how to handle this. He went into the bathroom and put away the small bag of prescription medications he had just picked up from the pharmacy. He poured a cup of coffee and carried it out to where Rodney was seated, handing it to him wordlessly. Rodney took it without a sound, not even glancing in his direction when he brought a chair over from the kitchen and settled himself in it to sit beside him. After a long while, Rodney began to shiver and finally stood up, placing the untouched cup of coffee on the table in front of the couch and wrapping himself up in the blanket before sitting down.
> 
>   
> John stood as well, shutting the balcony doors and turning on a small lamp. He replaced the chair in the kitchen and returned to the living room, seating himself on the end of the couch, forcing Rodney to pull up his feet with a frown. John turned so that he was half-facing him. "So, what do you know about the big guy that's moving in down the hall? The one with the dreads."
> 
>   
> "Oh. Him." Rodney was silent for a moment. "He's teaching classes at Teyla's studio now. I don't know where she found him, but I have a sneaking suspicion he was living on the street. Did you notice the tattoos on his neck? He has to be a former gang member." Rodney shuddered, drawing his feet even tighter up against his body. "There's a lot of gang activity around here these days."
> 
>   
> "Tell me about the people on your contact list." Anything to keep Rodney talking, to pull him out of his blue funk.
> 
>   
> "What?" Rodney was obviously not expecting that question.
> 
>   
> "Elizabeth Weir...Radek Zalenka..." John prodded.
> 
>   
> Rodney frowned. "Radek is a violinist. He's a member of the symphony orchestra, the one I used to conduct."
> 
>   
> "You, a maestro? Yeah, I can see it." John smiled at the image in his head of Rodney conducting a large orchestra, bringing artists to tears with his perfectionism, wringing gut-wrenchingly beautiful performances out of them, hands flying in the air to the rhythm and passion of the music. The performers would claim to loathe him (okay, some actually would) and secretly acknowledge that they had never played better in their lives.
> 
>   
> "I used to be." The flatness of his tone said it all. "Elizabeth is a flutist. She's quite good. Teyla, of course, you know about, she's a neighbor."
> 
>   
> "What about this guy, Beckett?" What the hell was eating Rodney tonight? He seemed so disconnected.
> 
>   
> Rodney sighed, pulling the blanket in closer around his shoulders. "Carson? He's a doctor, one of the best. I would've consulted him when I first was diagnosed, only he's off on some top secret military expedition and I honestly don't know how to get in touch with him—the number on the sheet is old. You should just take his name off the list."
> 
>   
> "What about family?" He always hated it when people asked him that question and now he was doing it to Rodney, damn it.
> 
>   
> "There is none. Not to serve as a contact number. If anything happens to me, my sister's address is in the computer, you can contact her then about my estate."
> 
>   
> Jesus, he didn't like where this was going. "How come you never have these people over?"
> 
>   
> "What are you talking about?" Rodney looked at him as though he had just suggested opening a peaceful dialog with Kolya.
> 
>   
> "Your friends, Elizabeth, Radek, Teyla. How come you never invite them over?"
> 
>   
> John had seen his share of different variations of Rodney's 'you moron' glare, but this one was no pitying reflection on his utter imbecility. It was a dead, blank look without heat or irritation. "They're just people I know, people I used to work with. They're not friends. I don't have any friends."
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> "He doesn't think he has any friends, Carson," John snapped. "He thinks everyone has abandoned him. I _have_ to go back. He's counting on me to be there."
> 
>   
> "Eating and sleeping in the virtual reality does not count as eating and sleeping, Colonel," Beckett said sternly. "I canna let you go back just yet, and you know it."
> 
>   
> _Like hell you can't_. John closed his hand over the ring device. He'd leave with it and activate it on his own if necessary. "Just what the hell happened out here today, anyway? I've never seen Rodney so despondent before."
> 
>   
> Kate and Carson exchanged a somewhat guilty look. Kate shrugged, her expression suggesting they would have to tell John sometime.
> 
>   
> "We tried to put in a feeding tube...unsuccessfully. Apparently the program has a fail safe against that option." Carson looked miserable.
> 
>   
> "Okay, look. If this system was used to punish prisoners, then there must be a way to adjust the settings. Capital punishment for some, a lesser sentence for others, whatever. Obviously, they can speed up the passage of time in the VR, presumably so the complete sentence can be enacted and you don't kill your prisoner with starvation. There has to be a provision for commuting the sentence...time off for good behavior maybe?" John was thinking out loud but he thought he might be getting somewhere with it. He looked up hopefully at Carson.
> 
>   
> "Every time we attempt to manipulate the settings, Rodney's vitals take a dive for the worse. We simply cannot experiment with that option." John recognized the exhaustion in Carson's voice, even as his shoulders slumped in defeat. Carson was a fine one to chide him for not resting.
> 
>   
> "What about you, Colonel?" Kate asked. "Have you noticed any ability on your part to affect the environment?"
> 
>   
> "Well," John said slowly, "I saw Ronon today, if that's what you mean. Rodney wasn't present, but after I mentioned seeing him, Rodney acted like he knew all about him."
> 
>   
> "What are you driving at, Kate?" Carson frowned at her, obviously torn between protecting his two patients.
> 
>   
> "Well, the Colonel was given the ring device. If the device is indeed used to monitor prisoner function, it may very well be that the person wearing the device has the ability to alter the programming."
> 
>   
> "Oh dear, lass, I don't think that you should've..."
> 
>   
> John didn't wait for Carson to finish. He wasn't coming back this time without Rodney. He slipped the ring on before anyone could stop him.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> He ran lightly down the stairs, trash bags in hand as he headed out the back door, the light from the open door illuminating a small section of dark alley where the trash cans were kept. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning the apartment. He wasn't sure what exactly this had gotten him, but Teyla had shown up to help and Rodney seemed pleased to see her. There was a message on Rodney's machine too, from Elizabeth, saying that she was thinking of him and would like to come over soon.
> 
>   
> A sound caught his ear as he rounded the corner of the building and he froze cautiously until he recognized Ronon's giant silhouette leaning over one of the cans, peering inside. John deposited his trash in another can and then cocked his head at Ronon. "Whatcha got there?"
> 
>   
> Wordlessly, Ronon held out the can in his direction. He came over, glancing down into the can. In the bottom, a small scrap of a kitten was hunkered down. As John looked down at it, it tilted its little face upwards and opened its mouth in a tiny wail. No sound came out.
> 
>   
> "Aw, Ronon. This is _perfect_." He reached down into the can.
> 
>   
> "You're nuts, man. What if it bites?" Ronon set the can down after John had fished the kitten out of it.
> 
>   
> "It's not a rat, Ronon, it's a baby cat." Ronon still looked at him as though he were certifiable. John grinned. "Rodney likes cats. And he needs something to take care of."
> 
>   
> Ronon backed away, hands up in an 'it's your funeral' gesture. John just grinned again and took the stairs two at a time back to the apartment.
> 
>   
> Rodney's sharp eye nailed him on his entrance, even as he was trying to hide the kitten in his shirt.
> 
>   
> "What have you got there?"
> 
>   
> "Oh this?" He was oh-so-casual. "Ronon found it in a trash can. I was just going to put it in a box until I could take it to the pound in the morning."
> 
>   
> "Let me see." John was secretly thrilled to see the imperious hand gesture. He gave a little shrug and held out the kitten. In the light of the apartment, he could now make out that the dirty little animal was a yellow striped tiger with a white bib and mittens. Rodney's eyes grew wide and he carefully scooped the kitten out of John's hands and pulled it into his chest. The kitten immediately began trying to crawl up to his chin and mewled piteously.
> 
>   
> "Gosh, it sounds hungry," John said innocently. "I think we have some milk in the fridge..."
> 
>   
> "By all means, give it milk if you want to blow it out with diarrhea," Rodney snapped. "Humans are the only species that persists in drinking milk after weaning and we don't even consume human milk at that! Most animals lose the digestive enzymes to handle milk after they've been weaned." His expression, fierce when aimed at John, softened as he looked back at the kitten again. "Okay, you know what? You are not allowed to take care of any baby animals—ever. There's a can of tuna in the kitchen somewhere, that will do in a pinch, open that and bring back a tablespoon on a plate—we don't want to offer too much at one time." He retreated with the kitten to the living room couch.
> 
>   
> John could hardly contain his grin as he went into the kitchen to comply with Rodney's orders. He returned with the plate of tuna as instructed and sat it down in front of the kitten on the couch. The little creature's head bobbed with excitement over the prospect of food, so ravenous it had trouble locating the source of the fishy smell. When it finally plunked its nose into the tuna, it began to eat like a wild thing, purring loudly in contentment. It cleaned up every scrap of the offered food and then sat down promptly on the edge of the couch and began to bathe, long pink tongue wiping down the fur of one forefoot and using it to move over its head and face.
> 
>   
> "Wow, it was hungry." John marveled at how such a loud, raucous purr could come from such a tiny creature. It sounded like a kettle on the boil.
> 
>   
> "She," Rodney corrected. "It's a girl. She has fleas, and ear mites too. Probably wormy as well."
> 
> Aghast, John reached for the kitten to take it away, but Rodney snatched it up protectively into his arms, prompting a small squeak of protest from the kitten as he did so.
> 
>   
> "Rodney," John started a protest of his own. "What happened to 'immunosuppressed individual here'? Cat scratch fever, who knows what else?"
> 
>   
> "I don't care," Rodney said mutinously. "We'll bathe her tonight and take her to the vet tomorrow. As a matter of fact, you need to go to the store. We need some baby shampoo and some kitten food. Oh yes, and a litter box, cat litter and a flea comb. Here, you'd better write all this down."
> 
>   
> The next morning John entering the living room, yawning, to find Rodney asleep on the couch with the kitten nestled on his chest. As he entered the room, the kitten gave a mighty yawn itself, tongue curling widely as it arched its body into an imitation of a Halloween cat and stretched. As John watched, the kitten sat back down, staring intently at Rodney's face for a moment before standing and moving up to his chin. Gently, it began to pat him on the face. It would buff him slightly for a count of three, then pause and check its results before repeating its efforts.
> 
>   
> Rodney opened his eyes and John saw him recognize the presence of the kitten, his mouth curving into a crooked smile, his eyes alight with pleasure. It was such an unguarded moment that John felt suddenly like a trespasser and something inside his own chest twisted protectively at the sight. He retreated back down the hallway to his room, not certain what exactly he was feeling or why.
> 
>   
> "I wish I'd remembered to have you get a carrier last night when you were out," Rodney groused as they taped the protesting kitten into a cardboard box.
> 
>   
> "I can get one later today," John promised. "You don't have to come, you know. I can take her to the vet myself."
> 
>   
> Rodney flashed him the standard 'you moron' glare. "Of course I'm coming. I have lots of questions for the vet about Carter."
> 
>   
> John snorted, almost choking with laughter. "You named the kitten _Carter_?"
> 
>   
> Rodney insisted on carrying the boxed kitten down the stairs. "I don't see anything wrong with that name." He sounded slightly miffed.
> 
>   
> "No, no, fine name. Just dandy."
> 
>   
> "What are you so amused about?"
> 
>   
> "Nothing, nothing." It was blonde, it was female, it was cute and Rodney was in love with her. He felt sure that Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter would have been flattered had she known.
> 
>   
> It felt good to be out on the street, even as he reminded himself that it was not really real. It was about sixty degrees, one of those fine spring days before the humidity would make living near the ocean unbearable. They didn't have time before the vet appointment now, but he was betting he could talk Rodney into coffee and croissants at the local bakery on their return. It was a short walk to the parking garage where Rodney stored his car and he insisted on walking the distance himself. John started slightly when he recognized the woman running the Asian market across the street as being Miko, the Japanese scientist from Rodney's lab. She was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her store and gave a little wave as they passed. Further down the street, Ronon could be seen lounging in front of Teyla's studio.
> 
>   
> They had almost reached the parking garage, when several tall figures with long white hair, wearing black coats that came down to their knees stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of them.
> 
> "Fuck me!" John cursed. He reached automatically for the weapon at his side that was not there.
> 
>   
> "Shit." Rodney's curse was quieter. "It's the Wraith. The gang I was telling you about. Don't make eye contact. These guys would kill you as soon as eat a sandwich. C'mon, let's cross the street."
> 
>   
> The Wraith cut them off. One of them carried a length of lead pipe that he smacked suggestively in his hand. "What's in the box, mister?"
> 
>   
> Rodney's arms tightened protectively around the box against his chest.
> 
>   
> "Nothing of any importance," John said smoothly. "So we'll just be moseying along here..."
> 
>   
> "You want money? Is that it? John, my wallet is in my back pocket. Give them that. Give them everything in the wallet." Rodney blazed at the Wraith in defiance, never taking his eyes off of them. "Whatever's in your wallet too," he added.
> 
>   
> "Well now," the leader's grin was feral, "I'd rather have what's in the box, seeing as how it's so important to you."
> 
>   
> John took a step in front of Rodney, blocking him from the rest of the Wraith. "Now is that any way for you boys to be? We've already established that we'll play nice here. Why don't you just take the offer and go?"
> 
>   
> "An excellent idea." Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Rodney turn at the sound of Teyla's voice coming up from behind, but he did not take his eyes off the Wraith.
> 
>   
> "Or you could just go." Ronon's deep voice seconded Teyla's suggestion. John gave a mental sigh of relief. The odds of them surviving this confrontation were improving rapidly. From across the street, John could see Miko advancing on their position, broom at the ready.
> 
>   
> The leader of the Wraith leaned in and snarled at John. "You are making a big mistake."
> 
>   
> "Been there, done that." John sighed. He kept a level eye on the Wraith leader. "Tell me something I _don't_ know."
> 
>   
> The Wraith turned and pointed a long finger at Rodney. "_You_ are a dead man."
> 
>   
> Rodney began to laugh, a harsh noise. "Look at me you moron, can't you tell that already? Worm food here." He continued to laugh as everyone stared, a dreadful wheezy sound.
> 
>   
> "We'll be back." The Wraith hissed suddenly and whirled, black coattails flapping with his movement as he stalked off down the street, his followers close behind, as though pulled into the vortex of his passing.
> 
>   
> "That went well," John began, only to have to catch Rodney by the arm and grab the box as he started to sink to his knees, skin as white as milk. Teyla moved in swiftly to the other side.
> 
> "I'm alright, I'm alright," Rodney said as they helped him into a seated position on the curb. "What the hell's wrong with you people? Don't you know better than to piss off the Wraith like that?"
> 
>   
> "We weren't going to let them hurt your cat, Rodney." John frowned, squatting down at his level. "And as I recall, you were right in there too. Volunteering the contents of my wallet, I might add."
> 
>   
> "I'm _dying_. I've got nothing to lose." Rodney shot him a vicious expression. "And now you, all of you," he indicated the circle of people gathered around with a flap of a hand, "have put yourselves at risk—the Wraith will be back and they'll be gunning for each and everyone one of you. All because of me. That's stupid."
> 
>   
> "We can't help it if we like you, Rodney," Teyla said serenely, a small smile on her face.
> 
>   
> "We will stand as one," Miko sniffed. John found himself beaming ridiculously at her.
> 
>   
> "Oh great," Rodney looked up sourly at Miko. "Maybe Channel Ten will come interview me after they pull your crispy corpse from the wreckage of your burned-out shop."
> 
> "Wait a minute, there's a _cat_ in the box?" Ronon looked askance at the box sitting beside Rodney. From inside, there came a pitiful mew.
> 
>   
> "Like you needed an excuse to pick a fight with the Wraith." John glanced over at Ronon as he spoke then stood and offered a hand to Rodney, helping him to his feet, taking the box from Teyla as she picked it up. "Dinner's at eight, guys. See you then. C'mon McKay, we still have to get Carter to the vet."
> 
>   
> The sound of the piano playing softly woke him around 2 am. Clad in just a t-shirt and briefs, he moved silently out into the hallway, following the sound into the living room. From the light of a full moon, bathing the room in a sharp edged radiance, John could make out Rodney at the keyboard, his shoulders moving as he followed the rhythm of his hands, his upper body swaying to the music. Mesmerized, John was pulled further into the room to watch Rodney play. The song built in passion, reaching its climax, and then quieted again, Rodney's hands lifting elegantly from the keyboard as he followed the music to its conclusion.
> 
>   
> He looked up and met John's eye, starting slightly at the sight of him.
> 
>   
> "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. That was amazing, Rodney."
> 
>   
> Rodney laughed sardonically. "Didn't mean to wake you. And I play well enough for my own entertainment, or to assist me in composing, but certainly not concert quality by any means." He began idly playing another piece. John recognized it as _Ave Maria_, but in Rodney's hands it had a lyrical quality that removed it from any prior religious associations. John came around to the end of the couch, seating himself on the armrest to listen. He glanced down; Carter was sprawled along the cushion, stretched out in feline bliss.
> 
>   
> Rodney played several more pieces, some of which John recognized, though he could not always identify them by title. Some were classics, but John recognized some popular tunes as well. Rodney finished with one particularly haunting piece, finally closing the keyboard. He stood up and stretched. John stood up as well. He moved forward as Rodney came around the end of the piano.
> 
>   
> "What was that one called?"
> 
>   
> "Hmmn? Oh. You _are_ a musical pagan, aren't you?" He picked up the bathrobe and slid it on over his own t-shirt and boxers, not bothering to tie it shut. "That was _Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini_. By Rachmaninoff. Though it loses something without the additional orchestration." He yawned suddenly, a great jaw-cracking effort. "Dinner tonight was nice, though I think I should be mad at you for inviting the entire neighborhood over to eat my food. Do you always pick up strays wherever you go?"
> 
>   
> John thought about it momentarily, screwing up his face comically as he had done before when asked about insubordination. He thought about the Athosians, and Ronon and the look on Elizabeth's face each time he came through the gate yet again with an odd assortment of people in tow. He thought about the strays he'd picked up as a child and always there was some excuse as to why he couldn't keep them, because they were moving on again, next week, next month, next year. "Yeah, pretty much. I don't know what you're grousing about though, Miko brought steamed dumplings."
> 
>   
> "Funny how Elizabeth and Radek just happened to show up as well."
> 
>   
> "Hey, it was a test of the McKay Emergency Contact System. You have to test these things from time to time, you know. Broadcast regulations."
> 
>   
> Rodney laughed. "I'm really glad you're here, you know that?" He reached out for John's shoulder, giving it a friendly pat. John closed his eyes and took a step closer at the contact. The moment seemed to hang in the air between them. Rodney made a small sound and also moved in closer, lifting a hand to place it on the side of John's neck, fingers stroking his skin as they had just moved over the keyboard.
> 
>   
> John pulled him in slowly, inexorably, into a full body hug, breathing him in as his hands moved up Rodney's back. It felt so very right and that alone scared the crap out of him. Rodney melted into him, his lips brushing against John's neck.
> 
>   
> "John, please," he murmured, "please don't be fucking with me here. I just can't take that."
> 
>   
> "No, Rodney, I would never do that." _You know, there's a special level in hell reserved just for you, John Sheppard_. There were so many excuses readily at hand. He could argue that he was helping Rodney find his own way back to the land of the living, that what was happening between them now was safe because it wasn't really real. He could ignore that he might be really fucking up things right now by indulging in feelings he never knew even existed before all this started.
> 
>   
> Rodney surged into him, taking his head into his hands and kissing him deeply, desperately, passionately. John was kissing him back just as hard. _God, I can't lose him now_. He molded himself to Rodney's body, and they pushed against each other hard, hands grasping and pulling at each other until suddenly Rodney pulled back to take a deep, sucking breath. He dropped his head, panting a little as he rested against John's neck, fingers stroking the side of his face.
> 
>   
> "I'm sorry," Rodney said with a soft laugh. "You know the saying. Spirit willing and all that."
> 
>   
> "It's okay. Seriously, Rodney, everything's okay." Rodney allowed himself to be guided without protest back to his bedroom, where he shed his robe with trembling hands and got back into bed without a word. John waited until Rodney got himself settled and was just starting to pull up the covers when he slipped in behind, threading one arm underneath Rodney's and encircling his chest, pulling him close. Rodney gave a deep sigh and leaned back into him, even as he pulled up the covers. He dropped his own arm on top of John's, bringing his other hand up to fold over John's hand where it lay on his chest.
> 
>   
> "Have you ever heard the term 'skin hunger'?" Rodney's thumb rubbed the inside of John's wrist. John let his fingers idly trace small patterns against Rodney's shirt.
> 
>   
> He nuzzled the back of Rodney's neck, whispering his response into his skin. "Tell me about it."
> 
>   
> "It's when you've been deprived of touch...of human contact for so long, that your skin begins to crave it, like water to a man dying of thirst." There was a long pause, and then Rodney repeated, "Skin hunger."
> 
>   
> John tightened his arm around Rodney's chest. "You know," he began, something deep and desperate making his voice sound husky, "you really need a better chemotherapy protocol."
> 
>   
> Rodney chuckled, the sound vibrating against John's chest. "What would you suggest?"
> 
>   
> John slid his leg in between Rodney's thighs, pulling him in closer, maximizing the amount of contact he could have with Rodney. He knew that Rodney could feel the hard length of his erection pressing up against his ass now. He also knew that there was nothing either one of them was going to do about it tonight. "I'm thinking the CHIPS protocol would be good."
> 
>   
> "CHIPS? What's that? The one where we ride around on motorcycles all day, apprehending criminals?" Rodney yawned, starting to sound sleepy. He moved his upper arm back until his hand rested on John's hip.
> 
>   
> "No." John kissed the back of his neck and Rodney made a little noise and movement that reminded him of Carter the cat. "CHIPS. Cocaine, Hawaii, ice cream...I can never remember what the P is for...pot? Partying? Whatever. And S is for sex."
> 
>   
> "Ooh. Remind me to play doctor with you sometime." There was another long pause.
> 
>   
> "Rodney?" John whispered, but Rodney was bonelessly asleep in his arms.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> When Rodney awoke the following morning, John was gone. For a moment, he had a sinking feeling that John was not just gone from his room, but from his life as well and the thought drove him to move faster than he normally would in the mornings. He forced himself up out of bed, shivering as he found his robe and slid it on.
> 
>   
> When he entered the living room, the cause for the chill became apparent. The balcony doors were open and John was outside in the brisk morning air, leaning against the rail. He was completely dressed, all in black, just like the first day he arrived.
> 
>   
> "John?" Rodney said uncertainly.
> 
>   
> John turned to face him and Rodney knew that something was very wrong. John looked weary, as though he had not slept in days, and the fact that he had not yet shaved only exaggerated the impression. "Rodney." John's voice was quiet. "We need to talk."
> 
>   
> _Here it comes_. Here's where John tells him that the problem lies not with him, Rodney, but that he, John, can simply not deal with Rodney's illness or whatever fucking excuse he was planning to come up with before he walked out the door. "By all means," Rodney took a step back from the balcony doors, indicating the living room with a half bow, his voice crystalline-sharp with bitterness. "Do come in. Let's _talk_."
> 
>   
> John passed him on the way inside with a frown, but Rodney ignored him, hauling the balcony doors shut and stomping into the kitchen where the coffee maker was already producing the first pot of the day. He busied himself in the kitchen, wanting to have something to occupy his hands, an excuse not to look at John at all. John followed him into the kitchen area, boxing him in, blocking the door. When a long moment passed without a word on his part, Rodney was forced to look up at him.
> 
>   
> Well, at least he had the grace to look truly distressed by whatever it was he had to say.
> 
>   
> Rodney turned back to the coffeemaker, pouring himself a cup and stirring an excessive amount of sugar into it.
> 
>   
> "Rodney, what I'm about to say is going to sound totally ludicrous and I need you to just shut up and hear me out, okay?"
> 
>   
> _What the hell_? Rodney looked up sharply to stare at John's worried face.
> 
>   
> John muttered, "I hope I know what the fuck I'm doing..." before running a hand through his hair, the black ring on his hand momentarily catching the light from above. "You're not a famous composer, you're a highly respected, brilliant astrophysicist working on a secret military project. You remember that expedition that you said Carson Beckett was assigned to? Well, so were you, as a matter of fact, you're the head honcho in charge of the geek squad. You do not have terminal cancer, you're trapped in a virtual reality that is making you think that you do and we are doing our best to free you."
> 
>   
> "Ah-HAH!" Rodney said triumphantly, smacking his coffee cup down on the counter. "I _knew_ it! I knew I wasn't a composer. My god, I've been so flipping _bored_ out of my mind! And every time I tried to work on the 'symphony'," he made big air quotes here, "I couldn't understand why I simply had no desire to do so. I mean it was interesting from a technical viewpoint, but then so are crossword puzzles. That all makes perfect sense now."
> 
>   
> John looked at him strangely. "Rodney. Did you miss the point where I said you weren't dying of cancer, but were trapped in a VR?"
> 
>   
> "Yes, yes, right, right, whatever." Rodney beamed back at him. The seriousness of John's expression caused his own to falter. "Wait a minute, did you say trapped? I'm presuming you have a way out, right?"
> 
>   
> "I'm still working on that."
> 
>   
> Rodney locked eyes with John. "Well what's been happening to the real me while I've been in here all this time? Jesus! It's been weeks and weeks, I mean, I was diagnosed with cancer like 6 weeks ago, how long have I....oh my god, I'm already dead, aren't I?"
> 
>   
> John cut him off. "That's the VR making you think that, Rodney. It gave you a backstory and time seems to move faster here. It hasn't been weeks, only a couple of days. But you do need to get out—and soon."
> 
>   
> "Well then what is real and what isn't?" Rodney frowned. The very fact that none of this preposterous claim sounded in the slightest bit odd to him was somehow very reassuring in and of itself, a weird sort of validation to what John was telling him.
> 
>   
> John's face seemed to lower a shield across it. "You've taken elements from your real life and incorporated them into this reality. Elizabeth, Radek, Teyla...these are all friends of yours, people you work with. Just in different capacities than how you know them here."
> 
>   
> "Are you real?" Rodney wasn't sure where the half-whisper came from.
> 
>   
> John appeared almost angry. "Yes, I'm real, Rodney." He bit off the words sharply. "I came to get you out of this mess."
> 
>   
> "Wait, wait, wait..." Rodney felt his features pull up into a frown as he began to pace around in a small circle within the kitchen, shaking a finger at Sheppard as he did so. "You said military expedition." He stopped and faced Sheppard again. "You didn't get discharged at all—you're still in the military, aren't you?"
> 
>   
> "Well, it was a close thing." Sheppard's expression was faintly wry.
> 
>   
> "Which means," Rodney continued, ignoring him, "that last night...the thing between you and...there is no _us_, is there?" He broke off in horror, meeting John's eye and not liking the pained expression he saw there.
> 
>   
> "I came for you." He said the words like they would explain everything.
> 
>   
> Rodney lifted his chin. "You came for me," he repeated. "Well yippee-yi-ki-yay for you. So now what? What's the big plan? What do I call you, by the way? Captain? Major?"
> 
>   
> "Colonel." Sheppard's voice was a reluctant sigh.
> 
>   
> "Oooh, I must be _very_ valuable to the project then, if I rate a _Colonel_ to come rescue me."
> 
>   
> "Look, can we just focus on the getting you out of here alive part for a moment?" John's eyes narrowed. "Get dressed. We're going to try getting out of here."
> 
>   
> Carter chose that moment to come skittering through John's legs into the kitchen, nearly wiping out with kittenish enthusiasm. Rodney reached down to scoop her up and she wrapped her forelegs and mouth around his thumb, pretending to kill his hand. "Fine," he said, not looking at Sheppard again. "I'll get dressed and put Carter in the carrier and we'll go."
> 
>   
> "Rodney." His voice made Rodney look up at him abruptly. "I'm sorry, but we can't take Carter."
> 
>   
> "I can't just leave her here!" Rodney was aghast at the suggestion. "Who's going to feed her? Scoop the box?"
> 
>   
> "Rodney." John looked as though Rodney had stuck a blade into his side and given it a twist when no one was looking.
> 
>   
> "Fine, fine!" Rodney snarled, pushing past him suddenly with Carter in his arms, jerking open the closet door where the carrier was kept. "While I'm getting dressed, you can take my _virtual_ kitten over to my _virtual_ neighbor Teyla and have her _virtually_ take care of her for me." He peeled the kitten off his hand, giving her a quick buff on the head with his lips before shoving her into the carrier and shutting the door. "Here!" He thrust the carrier at John, who had followed him out of the kitchen. He ignored the tiny wail of protest from within.
> 
>   
> John was just re-entering the apartment when Rodney returned to the living room, fully dressed. "Well, what now, Colonel?" He knew his tone could peel paint off a battleship but he did not care. "Or are you just making this up as you go along?"
> 
>   
> "See, you _do_ know me," John said with a half-hearted facsimile of his usual smile. "I've never crossed into the VR from inside your apartment—it's always been from outside the building. Let's go downstairs."
> 
>   
> "Well that was very productive," Rodney snarked once they were both outside on the pavement. "I feel much closer to reality now."
> 
>   
> "Heightmeyer said that you yourself might hold the key to returning back to reality. That it would have to be something that you wanted. Do you see a way out of here, Rodney?" John was standing on the sidewalk, turning his head, scanning the surrounding area while he squinted into the sun. Around them, people went about their business, popping into the local shops, driving down the road alongside them.
> 
>   
> "Who? Oh, never mind. I can see this is going to be one of those 'no place like home' deals, where the power to go home lies within my grasp all along. Well, I'm sorry, _Colonel_," he laid unusual, sarcastic emphasis on his rank again, "but I seem to have misplaced my ruby slippers."
> 
>   
> "Rodney." John shaded his eyes to look at him. "Concentrate. You can't possibly want to stay here in this existence, can you?"
> 
>   
> _No, why would you possibly think that? Only because I've been happier in these last few days then I can ever remember being before? Well, okay, except for the whole bored out of my mind thing...and the terminal cancer thing_...he stared back at John, willing him to 'get' it. Behind him, he could see a car turn onto the head of the street, a sleek, older model with fins in the back. The black and silver car picked up speed after the turn with a high pitched whine.
> 
>   
> John's head whipped around at the sound. "Dart!" He said urgently.
> 
>   
> He was already in motion as the car pulled up abreast of them. "Down!" John ordered, throwing himself in front of Rodney and forcing him to the pavement. Rodney had just time enough for quick glimpse of grinning faces with flowing white hair leaning out of the car windows before the bullets began spraying the sidewalk where they had been standing a moment before. Rodney crashed to the sidewalk with John on top of him. John made a soft grunt as they fell. They lay still, faces covered as the store window behind them shattered and showered glass all around. The car continued on, never stopping.
> 
>   
> "I'm alright, I'm alright," Rodney said as Teyla and Ronon came running up. He crawled out from under John and then froze when John did not immediately move to get up as well. Carefully, he took John by the shoulder and turned him over, trying to avoid the glass. The blackness of the clothing hid it well at first, but Rodney's hand came away from Sheppard's back covered in dark red blood.
> 
>   
> "John!" Rodney stared down in horror at his hand, as though it had somehow been dipped in acid. "Teyla, call 9-1-1!"
> 
>   
> Teyla nodded grimly, stepping up and back to pull out a cell phone and begin dialing. A small crowd was starting to peek out from windows and doors—he could see Miko hurrying over from across the street. His world immediately narrowed down to just John's face.
> 
>   
> John grimaced, hazel eyes half-slitted in pain. Rodney registered that they did indeed change color with the light, gleaming oddly golden in the early morning sun. "This is not so good..." he wheezed, touching a hand to his side and coming away with more blood. He coughed, a wet, drowning sound.
> 
>   
> "Ohgod,ohgod,ohgod," Rodney chanted. Someone handed him a towel and he pressed it to John's side, where the worst of the blood seemed to be pooling.
> 
>   
> "Rod-ney," he choked out, "take it..." He reached up towards Rodney with his right hand. Rodney caught it and pulled it up to his chest.
> 
>   
> "Don't move, you idiot. We haven't found all the holes yet." John smiled at that and Rodney's guts twisted at the sight of blood in his mouth, staining his teeth.
> 
>   
> "Take...the ring." He swallowed hard, pulling his hand back from Rodney's slightly and Rodney could feel him trying to push off the ring with his thumb, but failing to get any purchase on the blood-slicked surface.
> 
>   
> "John, I don't want..."
> 
>   
> "Take the ring, McKay." Ronon's voice was both commanding and gentle at the same time. Rodney looked up at him and was astonished to see an expression of sympathy on the tough guy's face. "It seems important to him. You should take it."
> 
>   
> Because it was a dying wish. Rodney knew that there was no way an ambulance was going to make it in time.
> 
>   
> "Right. Don't think this means that we're engaged or anything, because I really don't know you all that well." John closed his eyes at Rodney's shaky words, but continued to smile. Rodney desperately worked on the ring until he got it to slide off John's finger...and watched in astonishment as he simply disappeared.
> 
>   
> Ronon blinked. "What the hell just happened, McKay?"
> 
>   
> "The goddamned mother-fucker _ran out_ on me, that's what!" He slammed the ring onto his hand, surprised that it would even fit and feeling a dizzying sense of disorientation as the world went black.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> "Argh!" Rodney came up snarling, throwing off blankets and tearing off electronic monitoring devices as he did so, causing his IV pole to spin wildly. "Where is he? Where is that dumb fuck?"
> 
>   
> Carson's white, startled face whipped around from where he and a team of personnel were occupied with the Colonel. He caught Rodney just as he lunged forward to grab at Sheppard where he lay.
> 
>   
> "He's faking it!" Rodney yelled. "The bullets weren't real! You can't die from virtual bullets!"
> 
>   
> "Yes, yes you can." Carson gave him a rough shove that propelled him backwards, where he was suddenly pinioned by Ronon's grip on his arms. "Not _now_, Rodney, we have a situation here." And with that, he nodded at Ronon and jerked the curtain between the two beds closed.
> 
>   
> "Wake up you son of a bitch, so I can kick your ass!" Rodney yelled at the curtain. He lunged forward again, but he might as well have been trying to drag a mountain behind him. Ronon held him steadfastly.
> 
>   
> "Rodney." Teyla's voice was pained and he turned to see a mixed look of worry and relief in her eyes. "The virtual reality that you were entrapped in was designed to inflict lethal punishments. Don't you remember?"
> 
>   
> He felt himself starting to sag and Ronon lowered him to a chair. He began pulling in great gasping breaths; it felt like he could not get enough air. Teyla knelt alongside his chair, looking up with him in concern while he felt Ronon's great rough hand clumsily patting his back. He turned to Teyla, closing his eyes tightly, willing the burning behind his lids to cease. "I want my cat," he said as Teyla hugged him close and began to rock him slowly.
> 
>   
> ***
> 
>   
> He was just returning to his quarters from a late evening run when he saw Rodney McKay bearing down on him like a heat-seeking missile. He hesitated, delaying his entrance to his rooms long enough to give Rodney time to catch up, knowing it was senseless to try and avoid the inevitable and figuring in the end the privacy of his quarters was the better place to have any conversation with Rodney as long as he was wearing that steely-eyed expression.
> 
>   
> "Rodney." He folded his arms across his chest as Rodney came to a halt in front of him. Rodney's eyes shot blue daggers at him. Mentally sighing, he opened the door to his quarters and made ushering motions to Rodney, who stalked into the room without a word.
> 
>   
> "I see the Doc finally let you out of the infirmary. Bone marrow decided to kick in and start producing cells again, I take it?" If Rodney was going to take him down, it wouldn't be without a fight.
> 
>   
> "Yes, right. Of course, remind me again of how I almost died, _would_ have died had you not so masterfully intervened." Rodney turned to face him, arms crossed defensively over his chest, unconsciously mimicking his own stance. "Yes, my bone marrow is working again. Carson says it will be a few weeks before he can release me to go off-world again though. Apparently it takes time to replace red blood cells. And it took a while for my body to decide that I wasn't receiving bone marrow killing drugs after all." He indicated John's sweaty appearance. "I see you didn't take as long to recover from the fake gunshot wounds."
> 
>   
> "Carson says I went into shock at the time, but once they were able to correct for that, well, no holes, so no harm, no foul."
> 
>   
> Rodney's arms fell to his sides, fists clenched. "Do you really believe that?"
> 
>   
> "Well, yes." He looked at Rodney in some consternation. What exactly did he want here?
> 
>   
> "So because it was a _pretend_ suicidal self-sacrifice, it doesn't really count, is that it?" Rodney's face began turning red slowly, in small patches against the still too pale skin. John watched in traffic-accident style fascination at the mounting anger. "You know what, I'm _sick_ of everyone sacrificing themselves for me, like I'm some sort of precious commodity that is somehow worth more than everyone else put together."
> 
>   
> "Whoa, Rodney." John felt his brow furrow. "You know, as expedition members go, you _are_ sort of important around here."
> 
>   
> "I know that! Don't you think I know that? But do you think I like living with the idea that people, people I _know_, are going to willingly take a bullet for me, or shove me out of the way, or close the bulkhead doors behind me, because they think I'm more worthy of living than they are? It's not true." Rodney was truly enraged now. John was glad he was just out of spittle range. He decided to try soothing tactics.
> 
>   
> "Rodney, every single one of the military personnel here is prepared to die for every single one of the science team here. And if not, then I'm prepared to ship them back on the next Daedalus run. As for you personally, well, your big brain aside, I happen to like you as a person. And if something happened to you that I was able to prevent, and I _didn't_, well, I'm not sure I could live with myself. Why don't we talk about what this is really about?"
> 
>   
> Rodney stared at him, the fire dying out of his eyes to be replaced with uncertainty. "Okay, so you tell me. What _was_ that all about?"
> 
>   
> _Shit. He just had to bring that up, didn't he_? Nothing like putting out a small brush fire by starting a major forest fire instead. "That was about me making a serious mistake."
> 
>   
> As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they were subject to misinterpretation. Rodney looked as though he had been sucker-punched in the mouth. Any second now John expected to see him lift a hand to his lip to check for blood. "Well," he said stiffly, "at least I know where we stand." He started to push past John for the exit.
> 
>   
> John caught him by the arm and then quickly let him go at the glare. "Rodney," he spoke rapidly, "this was about me reaching for something I wanted that I could not have."
> 
>   
> Rodney had angrily pulled his arm back from John's grasp, but now he stood looking at him thoughtfully. "Just how badly do you want it?"
> 
>   
> They stared at each other a long moment, John trying to figure out what he could possibly say while Rodney fixed that intent blue-eyed gaze on him, reading him as though he were a piece of Ancient text. He was not certain who moved first, only that they both suddenly collided into each other, mouth seeking mouth frantically, hands forcing their way under clothing and finding the skin they so desperately craved. Rodney pushed him back against the wall, laughing as he pinned John's hands beside his head.
> 
>   
> "I can _so_ push your buttons," he smirked.
> 
>   
> "Only the ones you installed," John confessed, half defiant.
> 
> Rodney's eyes dilated and his lids dropped until they were half closed. "Oh wow. I think that's the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me."
> 
>   
> John freed his hands and spun them around until it was Rodney pinned against the wall. "I hope you're keeping a list, because there will be more where that came from." Fingers entwined with Rodney's own, he kept Rodney's hands flat against the wall by his head, pressing his body into Rodney's as he pressed his mouth over Rodney's lips as well. Rodney's mouth opened under the pressure and he fell into a vat of thick, warm, sweet honey, even as he ground his cock into the heat of Rodney's body. There was a murmured protest under his lips, and then Rodney freed his hands to clutch at his sides, to pull his ass in closer, _there_. It was too much, what had been building between them suddenly flared up like a rocket. Mouth and hips found a rhythm, the friction of clothing brought things to a flashpoint, until John had to break off to shudder and pant in Rodney's ear, clutching at his shoulders, only to feel him arch back and do the same moments later.
> 
>   
> "Next time," Rodney slowly licked his lips as he smiled through half-closed eyes at John, "fewer clothes."
> 
>   
> "Sure," John agreed. If Rodney had said to him, 'hey, John—remember that whole thing where I accidentally blew up five sixths of a solar system? Well, I got that little problem figured out now. Can we go try it again tomorrow?' John would have said, 'sure'. _Next time_. He liked the sound of that.
> 
>   
> Next time became _this time_ during the night as hands and lips slowly and languidly mapped out new territory on each other's bodies. John felt as though they had somehow returned to Rodney's VR apartment, recalling with crystal clarity Rodney's words about skin hunger and being startled to find it applied to him as well. He woke early as was his usual habit, and watched Rodney sleeping beside him. Rodney lay on his back, some color finally coming back to his cheeks beneath the stubble. John studied his face and decided he had ridiculously long eyelashes. Carefully, he brushed a cheekbone with a fingertip—patting it three times before sitting back to see the results of his efforts. It took a second pat-pat-pat before Rodney opened his eyes, but there it was; the crooked smile and the delight that spread over his features. John smiled down at him. _Eat your heart out, Carter_.
> 
>   
> ~fin~


End file.
